Once we get rid of our sun, do we decapitalize?

This essay is partially a response to Nina Power’s New Brutality and inspired by reading leftist discourses with friends Carleen Coulter, Ben Mauk, Mitch Speed, Sonja Hornung, and Richard Pfeifer in the last six months.

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“Just as the sun is the one all-illuminating and warming sun, so reason is also the one reason” Descartes

“As we rush to explore the new vistas that cyberspace has made available for colonization, let us remember the fragility of a material world that cannot be replaced” Katherine Hayles

We live in the aftermath of the Age of Reason, inheritors of its brutalized logic. The alienation and the subjugation of the body is not some post-internet apocalypse state but actually a progressive activity of capitalism itself. “I am not this body” Decartes wrote in the 17^th century. This statement was just a precursor for a thinking of a brain as a computer and the body as a prosthesis of the digital imagination. Yet when we encounter an exhibition that makes use of alienating aesthetics declaring the supremacy of digitalism, we are not thrown back to Cartesian ideology. In a sense, we are too far alienated from the history of capitalism to understand our own vile separation from ourselves. How did information lose its body, Katherine Hayles asks in her book How We Became Post Human? As communications began to be comprised of signals, the material existence of messaging or dialoguing dislodged the human itself.

Enter the Sun.

In the futurist play Victory over the Sun (1913),[1] there is a distinct declaration to surpass the sun as the central paradigm of the path to the future:

‘The sun is nothing but a pretext for people to be slaves to the world-illusion. Its roots “have the rancid taste of arithmetic”, there is nothing but the darkness of reality outside”’.

Though the appearance of this phrase suggests something radical or even revolutionary, it reeks of technocratic hegemony. To exist outside of the realm of the sun and outside of the natural sphere has a very strong identity politics associated with it and yet, informatics has convinced us that going faster than light speed is the way of the future. Really it is the way of entrapment— Frederic Jameson warned, an informatics society is the purest state of capitalism.

Speaking from an entirely different context, lodged squarely within his own milieu, but also contemplating the question of a democracy that has never come, Jacques Derrida wrote almost as an afterthought when elaborating on sovereignty and infecting rationalism that breads racism:

(But can one really replace the sun? Can one think an original technical prosthesis of the sun? That is perhaps the question underlying everything I’m saying here)[2]

He continues with a passage from Husserl: “Reason has demonstrated its force in relation to nature” from Crisis. Husserl’s Crisis, written on the brink of WWII, forecasted the acceleration of Nazism by linking it to the very movement and principle of modernity—the machine that is still to this day in a process of acceleration. In times where this word is on the lips edge of every seemingly politicized speech, perhaps a phenomenological blocking of power in relation to its main symbolic state can be fodder for meditation before turning to a more jarring beheading of capitalism.[3]

Such thinking is not simply phenomenological abstract. During the vigorous and brutal colonization of Africa, slogans could be seen in Germany advertising for a place in the sun. These words also landing on imperial propaganda leaflets and sites were a predated foil to more pastiche advertisements for tourism and gated community homes. What does a place in the sun mean? A seat to power, a golden thrown, or the accumulation of world resources?

In 1897 a speech delivered by Bernhard von Bülow, the secretary of state for Prussian foreign affairs and later Chancellor, he demands before the Reichstag that the empire claim its seat in the sun—the sun standing in for an imperial urge to expand to Africa. Co-currently, there was also a type of sun cult set up by August Engelhardt and August Bethmann in German New Guinea. Their book Eine Sorgenfreie Zukunft (A Carefree Future) advocates for a colony in Africa set up around ecological living on Kabakon Island—a carefree future or a further implantation of the deleterious knowledge of imperialism?

On capitalism directly inspiring unnatural states, Silvia Frederici writes: “Capitalism also attempts to overcome our ‘natural state,’ by breaking the barriers of nature and by lengthening the working day beyond the limits set by the sun, the seasonal cycles, and the body itself, as constituted in pre-industrial society.”[4] To lengthen the day past the sun was an initial marker of wills to reason, and to rethink the sun as the prosthesis of the body the logical course of it. In a way, it is both capitalism and sovereignty that cuts the body into a schizo form: capitalism fragments the body and also genders labor, thereby constructing the family while sovereignty partitions the body of the king himself.

In his book written in the 1950’s The King and his two bodies, Ernst Kantorowicz explains a perplexing phenomenon on the concept of the body of the dead king. In Roman times, the Emperor was divided into two bodies: his natural body and his sacred body. An effigy was built, standing in for his sacred form and burned in an official state ceremony. The creation of the double artificial prosthesis functioned as a purified form of absolute power.

To build a body to stand in for the shadow of the self can be a more prominent display of state hood—functioning in opposition to base matter. The mask always becomes truer than what was underneath in fascism, or maybe more apt, in a telematics society, a mask is contained in a string of codes, numbers, and informatics—which makes beheading or cutting decentralized twitter power quite futile. When we search for the King’s body in order to get rid of it, it is important to know that there is a second one lurking below it existing in opposition to matter. There is no possibility of transgressing the presidents mask, which is actually transgressing the artifice of nature itself for this very activity is already wound up inside the central motivation of the capitalist paradigm. How to fight power, the answer likely lies in the junk.

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[1] A partial score was “shown” at Documeta 14 in Kassel at the listening stations. The curators are keen to ask us how we can get rid of the sun—subversive or fascistic?

[2] Derrida, Jacques. “The ‘World’ of the Enlightenment to Come”. Rogues: Two Essays on Reason. Stanford UP: 2005. 140

[3] Nina Power discusses beheading and decapitation as a metaphor to fight capitalism, though to talk about decapitation in this day and age juxtaposes a middle age practice with current activities of fascistic and terrorist organizations such as the Islamic State. It should be noted that Francis Bacon, English philosopher writing in the 16^th and 17^th century theorized that fighting opposition to capitalism was like fighting a many-headed hydra. After you cut and brutalize one opposition, another head grows. This begs the question, when we decapitate, whose head is actually being cut off—the King’s or the opposition?

[4] Frederici, Silvia. Caliban and the Witch: Women, The Body and Primitive Accumulation. Atonomedia: 2004. p.135

Speak to Me of Love

I suppose it is easy to pretend love,
and many succeed in playing it twice and over.

In this way, in its gaming like qualities
the game of love has been marketable,
its terms stretched out like some type of social Darwinism,
and the splicing of the body, of the mind,
through swipe systems, is nothing but Cartesian,
if not downright Lacanian.

Its an odd phenomena when you find yourself relating to the melancholic subjects, rather than the heroine, or so called winner. Displayed in stories, as alienated, exiled from the leading ladies, these characters seem to overload the cinema like a reloaded defamed dream version of the self – maybe like an anti-underdog.

The melancholic subject is a site for resistance, this heroism not found in the actual plot lines, but in the off-lines, in the leaving of the scene. Maybe the main plot line of this subject is the leaving itself.

The melancholic subject is not the melodrama, this is something else entirely, but it is a way to find joy in the abject situation of finding oneself spit out after being swallowed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

In Igmar Bergman’s film The Passion of Anna, the leading lady, Anna, declares after she realizes her lover has never been in love with her that “it is difficult to find out one day that nobody loves you, nobody needs you, you are entirely alone.”  She makes this declaration after her lover looks at her and tells her, “poor Anna, you are not lucky in love,” revealing the loop in Anna’s affairs, where in the end, the man always leaves after realizing that she was just a place hold for their affections, just a point on their greater passage.

Anna’s vacancy, her turbulence, lands her as this melancholic juncture as the unwanted and the unpicked. She drives off into the marshland, after attempting to kill herself and her lover in a car accident, though in the end, it is only herself that she transports with the vehicle, leaving the whole story behind her.

Anna’s love-life gets reduced instead to mere oscillation, mere ebb-and flow. Media theorist Kittler quips: “Love, Technically employed, is a shellac disk with the eternal title Parlez-moi d’amor.” Speak to me of love.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

More and more, these subjects keep popping up, the melancholic, who uses the vehicle to move desire astray; yet today, the automobile is not the vehicle which one uses to move desire forward. Today it is the digital sphere that one turns to: the endless dating app, the sorting machine where people are matched on shared interests.

We sort ourselves, perhaps only to move desire forward.

Like Anna’s lover, we sort in order to find destination points on a longer meandering, never ending path, which we think is never ending and moving when it is actually just a “shellac disk,” a reoccurring game we play with ourselves, full of spoken utterances, which break, flow, and reformulate themselves according to the media we use to send these calls forward.

On the melancholic subject, she seems to defy signification; she is a relief of signification.  Melancholia is an illness without signs. Moreover, the melancholic subject, formerly, and probably inaccurately once termed hysteric, wants to play her trauma, and chooses mimicry over reality.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Though this might seem to be a prototype of an anti-feminist subject, where woman is always determined through her negativity or through the fact that she is a desired object, looking at her as a site for repetition and reverberation breaks down her image. This essentially was the impetuous for the photography project Odalisque Beauty Ass. It was not about making a series of images based upon a negativity but to reverberated the poses that have been assigned to woman, odalisque, hysteric, melancholic, and dead woman rising, in order to make them take flight. In a sense, there is a deeply Kafkaesque logic to the entire scenario as well as a media logic of sound and reverberation. It should also be noted that the hysteric was a construction of photography, as is Georges Didi Huberman’s entire concept written into the Invention of Hysteria. The fact that the hysteric knows she is a performance and the performance is a game also implies that her subject is a co-production. How to make photography with this essential logic when one knows one is produced for a future (avenir) coming hybrid gazer?

Charcot’s Augustine
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

On the first invention of the telephone, an invention, which was based upon misunderstanding of Helmholtz’s experiment by Alexander Bell, Wolfgang Hagen writes, that in the case of the telephone, perception has no signifiers, perception is simply based on a system of codes, fiber optic cables, and distance.

There is never a person behind the voice, a true origin. Instead, like Lacan’s real, the technical coding that makes up the voice is the voice.
Now, when the main arena of love is not in reality, but in the virtual, where everything is flattened to digital space, we again find ourselves with a perception of the subject (the object of desire), who has no signification, no markers; in fact, the most desirable subjects are oft the one’s who fit most easily into a stock caricature form with plastic and restylane injections in the face. We desire the objects that have rid themselves of their body.

Love is based on a relief of signification. Love, looking a lot like melancholia.

In Jean Cocteau’s Une Voix Humane (A human voice), the first drama where the telephone became an actor, took on human properties, one sees the development of a female subject (Elle) whose desire and calls (envoier) become spliced through the mechanic interventions of the telephonic apparatus. One can say Elle, who is the only body on the stage, apart from the telephone, cannot exist without the telephone, she is bound up in it.

Her performativity of desire, instead becomes a form of melancholia because, like Hagen reminds us, the telephone generates a series of perceptions which are not founded in any type of material world. Therefore, both her love and performative existence, like the telephone, are hysteric: fiction.

For Elle, the speaking to her lover constitutes an encounter with what Katherine Hayles calls a “cybernetic circuit” that splices “will, desire, and perception.” Elle cries out many times to someone on the other end of the receiver. She proclaims love, but is it love? She splits herself into the cybernetic circuit, and once in the circuit, she allows her identity to be co-produced by the telephone. Love seems to also fade into the realm of the telephone by splintering off into electricity. It exists as mere performitivity and the performitivity is the real but an alien, bastard, and disobedient cyborg creature.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

There is a vampirism in love, Deleuze and Guattari write, and it comes with the substitution of the letter of love for the actual act itself: “to substitute love for the letter of love? To deterritorialize love.”  This letter of love is equivalent to the word of love, to the words or proclamations of love, though the gaming of love, which is at play in online dating, is another arena, which has more in common with the Fetish than the pharming.

Could it be, that the circuit loop we seem to find ourselves trapped in actually changes the relation itself and the way a thing correlates?

Media theorist, Kittler writes on the recording device and the phonograph that the actual activity of recording replacing the whole concept of love with the concept of amplitude and oscillation:
“The word of love is sent forth, is received, is sent out again by the
receiver, picked up again by the sender, etc, until the amplifier reaches
that point that in studies of alternating current, is called oscillation
amplitude, and in the contemporary discourse is called love”

Kittler claims love is a large term that wraps up a cybernetic circuit or repeating desires, in all terms a deterritorialization. This love has more in common with the masochist than a queer horizontal affection. The love of a woman to a man that often always mimics sadomasochism, is the only hetero love I have known. But like Anna, there can be a power derived in the leaving just as there is a power derived from playing love, and knowing that it is pure performance. This is what the hysteric has taught me.

Freud wrote how behind every hysteric woman there is a father, and in media history, between every telephonic connection, there was a woman, connecting calls, often unknown and disembodied. The woman forms the matrix, and out of her disembodied corpus we can sense the trauma of the digital revolution. The disc rotates and rotates, it requires blood to feed its desires, a sacrifice has to be made, the sacrifice of you pre Oedipal self, Lacan says into his recording device. In the revolutions and repetitions, you realize a pattern is forming, and this pattern is a territory you have been weaving, to land on and perhaps defile.

“Welcome to the digital revolution”, the young girl yells out on the screen, and you realize that young girl is you.

1. Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Felix. trans Polen, Dana. Towards a Minor Literature. 1975
2. Kittler, Friedrich. Literature Media, Information Systems, ed. Johnston, John. Critical Voices in Art, Theory and Culture p. 53-4
3. Hagen, Wolfgang. Gefühlte Dinge. Der Oralismus im Effekt des Elektrischen als die Entdeckung der Telefonie, in: Stefan Münker / Alexander Roesler (Hg.) 2000: 35-60
4. Hayles, Katherine. How we became posthuman. Cybernetics, Literature and Informatics. 1999.
5. George Didi-Huberman. trans. Alisa Hartz. The Invention of Hysteria. 2003.
   

 

Nomadism vs. Situated presence

Introduction to the beginning of a conversation series initiated by Vanessa Gravenor and Zofia nierodzinska taking place in Berlin. The conversation series will take place over the course of the end of 2016 and 2017 and discuss the notion of mobility, travel, and temporariness in art labor. Below is a text I wrote for the introduction.

 

This idea to make this discussion came out of collective labor and also the simultaneous entanglements of residency programs. The Air Residency, Redirecting East at the CCA in Warsaw, and the Lulea Residency that ff, a collective did in Sweden. This summer, I was on the margins of these two residencies, not officially belonging to them, but still contributing to projects of artists who were participating in residency programs. (A friend, Dorian Batycka calls this being a sub-resident) This prompted a certain type of criticality towards the residency, of course born out of a type of bitterness and certainly a certain minority complex. The question is, to be a nomadic subject as an artist or to be situated in a locality? Who are the situated subjects who facilitate the collective and is this a gendered subject.

*In full disclosure, I have never been an official resident of a residency program, so all criticism is from the exterior and skewed data.

The second prompting for analysis was the notion of the sharing economy of collective labor and why one sees the emergence of these types of labor networks.
More and more, with the turn of neoliberalism and late capitalism, the sharing economy encourages us to create a type of collective labor, loosen ties, but one also gets the sense that this type of sharing is a part of a master narrative that as a feminist artist I am trying to fight.
In a Critical Cartography of Feminist Post-postmodernism, Rosi Braidotti talks about this exact phenomena of seeing a resurgence of master narratives do to neo-liberalism or genetic branding. “Their joint impact has caused both inflation and reification of the notion of ‘difference.’”
All of these invariable clusters prompted a tough and difficult examination of collective labor. I have contributed to many collective labor types within the past year, yet, I am also sensing that the sharing economy or collective labor, that as a “free agent,” I am some how facilitating something else. Lane Releyea talks about the free agent the one on the outside as an individual actor “crucial in keeping that team or group always piecemeal, always short of developing too much,” or developing an “inflexible solidarity.” The free agent, some type of riff on freelancer, is an existence something like a snake that eats its own head. In this position, social relations seem to reconfigure themselves so that you inevitable feel as a freelance artist you have both chosen your own freedom but also systematic marginalization. I have started to feel like this freelance existence, or project poleteriat what Kuba Szreder calls it, is an auto immune disease that eats the insides but originates also from the center, from my own subjective desires.
Before I start, I’d also like to thank the editor of N.Paradoxa whom I pitched an essay on this very subject to. “When artist get together to talk about precarity…” it becomes a circle jerk (paraphrase).

 

Serious Games, or REAL trauma?

 

Right: Kelsey Rogets, 26 MINUTES,  4×5 Ektar, 30×40 in inkjet print, 2013, photograph of the Creech Air Force Base in Indian Springs, Nevada where Drone pilots are stationed to operate unmanned aerial vehicles in Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iraq in shifts.

Left: Rendering from Hiba Ali in one of our conversation on how to make an AK-47

 

In Harun Farocki’s Serious Games, he makes a proposition to the viewer by revealing a key aspect of the military industrial complex: if the US army uses game simulations to train the army, i.e. makes a simulation of Afghanistan, then is the actual experience of war anything more than a serious game? In Grégoire Chamayou Drone Theory, written in 2013 and translated from the french in 2015, he continues along this line of thought by explicating how the drone pilot also sees the destruction of civilians in Pakistan as an extension of the game. Drone planes fly above the stratosphere unable to distinguish between what a child looks like and what a dog looks like, receiving data, but not ever “seeing.” Chamayou also draws an interesting point that contrary to popular thought, drone pilots do not experience PTSD like soldiers. Most of them continue a regular life with wife and children and experience their jobs as “shift” work. Their complains have more to do with the hourly clocking in of labor rather than the mental anxiety of murder.  But what do these war zones feel for the victims, and what does an ontology of the apparatus look from the other side, from the perspective of the one who is the aim of the target or in the cross section? The opposition would be that rather than the experience of violence, the war zone, or even the PTSD treatment of soldiers which Farocki researches, the experience of violence for the victim actually constitutes an encounter with the REAL, affecting time after and before with a fictitious game like quality. Like Primo Levi suggests, there are several state’s to trauma dreams, an interior dream of peace, and an outer dream, where the reality of the moment returns to you, not only once but again and again. In this essay, I propose ontology of weaponry as told from the victim, dissing the various time-space connectivity of trauma both from a psychoanalytic perspective and from a first account narrative glance.

 

 

Aphorisms

Still, the persistence of time shocks up because we halfway expect its whole apparatus to give out like a worn spring board.

But somehow it keeps weaving, to our innumerable surprise, giving way to change contingency.

Social Relations, Art World, Networking

This essay was featured on An Paenhuysen’s blog

 

You can’t be an artist without traveling. Trips to the Middle East, India, Brooklyn, Berlin and back. Artists are mobilized and move around the globe, bringing back tokens of found places like colonial artifacts that bear witness to how other people live. I, myself, am certainly guilty of this. Reading Pamela Lee’s Forgetting the Art World post graduation during a part time nanny gig and less than part time visitor’s service coat check job at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago, I uncovered the paradox of the career. People are calling it the precariat, or individuals who lack any kind
of stability in their lives. For instance, there is an e-flux series dedicated to this topic called Are You Working Too Much, which essentially questions the role of leisure in professionalized artists practiced.

 

I am the precariat, like many who find this instability to be the dominant force in their lives, the precariat has no stable relationships, fixed romantic partners, or even places to live. Living by our wits, we scrap together a freelance existence and government subsidies and get by by reminding ourselves that we like it this way, we couldn’t survive a corporate existence, and that polyamory is just the latest thing. In fact, we’d rather be polyamorous, even though somehow we always feel like a mistress when doing the deed.
The precariat has assumed the “pitch” as our/her/his/their dominant form of communicating with others. We pitch ourselves to lovers, to editors, to facebook, linkedin because we understand that we have to sell ourselves to survive. The artist/precariat would like to talk about her own experiences of physical trauma, etc. trying to cling on to any vestige of contemporarity in order to simply get a space on the interwebs. Of course, after the pitch is over, the writing pitch lets say, the artist/writer always recognizes his or her own intellectual prostitution.

 

The pecariat’s paradoxical desire is to move, always keep moving. Yet, unfortunately, these moves rarely make you freer – they often trap you. One of the places where artists can be “free” is a residency, or state funded excursion to different exotic or creative institutions, with the goal of producing works that will benefit society. The programs often urged artists to make sound, walking installations, in order to subvert the typical
tourist experience, which of course only enhances it. But, as a friend quipped, this often feels like vacation art, some type of watercolor one paints by the seaside resort while an impoverished ghetto is far from sight.
“Authentic interaction” within the city is something you have to fight for.
Wetravel for work more than any other generation and with that comes a bit of tourisms. Notions of escape, adventure and a return to an Edenic past, and the belief that the souvenirs we return with will keep us connected to wherever we were displaced to. – Pamela Lee In an essay written in 2006, when the residency was in its hay-day, when artists still believed that travel was a type of utopia, Hito Steyerl and Boris Buden highlight the irony of being in residence somewhere, for in political terms, one never receives residency, but a temporary form of dwelling, which always has a time restriction.
We could call it the problem of the residue. But what is this? There is always a difference between the number of people who reside in a certain place and those who are being taken into account. The mere residents are usually in excess over the others. While the former simply happen to live there, the latter are being woven into a network of nation, representation and benefits (Hito Steyerl and Boris Buden)

Artist in a residency have no political representation, they don’t vote, but their difference is limited to a very specific type of cultural capital that often rarely leaves a residue. Quoting this essay in Active Withdrawls, a survey book talking about alternative institutional spaces and interventions, the author explains how the labor produced in the residency is always relational or performative in the form of meetings, talks, and networks.
Certainly, the 20th century artist was instructed to forget community, nation, and family in order to become an artist. We remember this from James Joyce, who many of us in the English-speaking world were forced to read as a pupil, as if he would indoctrinate us into his modernist plan for the artist. I even encounter this same logic in art school, even though it wasn’t prefaced as such. For instance, the “radical” professor who instructs the students to cut ties to your family, reject your nation, keep moving at any cost!
This, in theatrical terms, is what we call the picaro, or the ever-traveling salesman. Who knew that the contemporary post-post-modern artist was learning in University the craft of the salesman?

 

In literature the picaro is an anti-hero, someone who travels from city to city and lives by his/her “wits.” He rejects fixed identity based on pasts, community, family, for these are things that would lead to his/her entrapment. This forces picaros to live on the edges of society, never really feeling local.

So many times, I have encountered this picaro figure within the contemporary art world, and laughed at the untimeliness of it all.
“I have no name, you see,” the contemporary artists says through his or her trickster teeth.
The collective is anonymous even though we all know the artists behind the name.
The academic world is also afflicted by precariats and picaros.
A professor travels back and forth between cities. While their career may be in one major city, it may not be able to give them financial stability, so they have to commute to second tier or even third tier cities, in order to collect the cultural capital that flows off-shore. Though the plane mobilizes the artist professor, he or she experiences the hell of the terminal existence, the jet-setting, that in fact has nothing to do with freedom or vacation, but purgatory.
Students are left with these maternal figures coming and going into and out of their academic lives, making us develop abandonment syndromes. The entanglement of these soft traumas in academia is enough to afflict any student with a permanent therapy addiction or drug addiction.

In his book, Your Everyday Art World, Lane Relyea discusses this turn towards networked living of the artist. This networked living, of course, has its utopian facets, for it can also facilitate communities and collectivities. Yet the collective nowadays takes on this temporary autonomous fashion, which has nothing to do with communal life, but everything to do with the privileged infidel, or the pirate, who, very much like the picaro!, has no interiority or allegiances, thus cannot begin to start facilitating any sort of community or network!
Another facet of the precariat life is the autoimmunization of social relations.
What does this mean? We all know the signs, the artist who seeks out a friend who from a distance is making really radical work and has a contemporary aesthetic. Yet, the closer the precariat gets to this friend, the less and less the friend from a distance seems radical or even on the edge of things. The precariat is always in a state of a one night stand with everybody around them, and once one turns on the lights in the morning and he or she sees the person they have slept with, and the precariat realizes how hideous it all was. This, my friend, is the autoimmunization of social relations. Autoimmune like an internal disease that afflicts the artist freelance existence. Once friends or even lovers find themselves on the inside of the precariat’s social relations, the precariat rejects them as unwanted spawn. Perhaps we should add another synonym to the precariat’s indexical vocabulary: the narcissist.

 

As precariats, whether we like it or not, we are somehow condemned to this endemic freedom, this travel urge, the wanderlust, that begins first in an exciting way, like a one night stand, but after the golden lights are turned on, we realize that the urge had less to do with us and more of the systematic indentureship of the flows of the art market.
The precariat turns on the lights in the morning and proclaims how DISGUSTED he/she is with the whole scene.

Rundgang, UDK, unpublished text for the Steyerl Class, aka Rejected

And the images keep coming back up. Back up to us.
As if they were waves freeze framed in still motion.
What are they, some sick bastardization of Nietzsche’s treatise on history that yields humanity.
What a sick joke. What a s-i-c-k joke.
Want to make work on violence?
Want to make work on digitality?
Want to make work on the revolution?
Whose revolution, and for whose cause.
A
A
A
Chew.

-Courtesy of the artist